For Cold Cases
by Magnolia Sparrow-Bane-Torres
Summary: There are no cases and Sherlock is bored! John's poor jumpers..


Sherlock was bored.

It was the fifth day in a row with no cases and there was absolutely nothing to do. He'd already recorded data on his current experiments and John had left about an hour ago yelling that they needed milk, so he wasn't available entertainment. John had hidden his gun as well and, though Sherlock could always find it, one could only be entertained by shooting walls for so long. There were no cases on his email, Lestrade had no cases, he'd even been desperate enough to ask Mycroft! Who of course had no cases.

Now Sherlock found himself lying on John's bed and staring at the ceiling, contemplating the fact that the dots on it had an uncanny resemblance to blood spatter caused by a knife wound to the leg.

_There has to be something interesting in this flat to occupy my time until a case comes along.. _he thought to himself.

Sherlock glanced toward John's closet.

_Hmm.. _

Surprisingly enough, Sherlock had never gone through John's closet or anything of the sort, there had never been a need. However, now he was curious. He stood up and opened the closet doors. As he looked inside, an idea hit him.

_Well that could be entertaining._

* * *

John was terrified.

He'd woken up at 4 in the morning to the sound of Sherlock's violin, tried desperately to block out the noise with his pillow, then accepted defeat and walked into the that moment he had sat helplessly in his chair as Sherlock ranted to him about the audacity of London's criminal classes for being so boring and the results of his experiment on different rates of the decomposition of human flesh when exposed to various substances. Finally, after five hours of this, John had had enough. He ran out of the flat yelling that they needed milk, leaving Sherlock talking to his empty chair.

Now he was on his way home from the Tesco's down the road and was regretting ever leaving Sherlock alone. Who knows what damage the bored consulting detective could have done? John's mind was flooded with images of acid burned floors and torn apart couches as he warily opened the door to 221B.

* * *

John walked slowly into the flat, scanning his surroundings for clouds of toxic gasses or knives stuck to the ceiling. He saw nothing threatening until-"Sherlock, what the hell are you doing?"

"Sewing John, I thought it would be obvious." Sherlock was indeed seated at their table, a sewing machine in front of him, stitching together what looked like their kitchen towels.

"And what are you wearing?"

"Your sheet."

"My sheet. From my bed. You made yourself trousers.. out of my sheet!"Sherlock looked pleased with himself.

"Yes well, you seemed embarrassed last time I wore a sheet in public so I thought you would find it more appropriate if I made it into actual clothing."

John was surprised. That sounded almost like Sherlock was trying to be considerate. Well that was a pleasant thought, maybe he- any idea of Sherlock being a caring person disappeared as John glanced at the living room windows.

Sherlock saw the sudden shift in John's expression and thought he should explain quickly. "You were upset when our curtains were ruined by those French assassins last week and I thought that you might like-"

"My jumpers!" John stared in disbelief at the patchwork curtains made of his beloved sweaters.

"Yes, they were-"

"You've made my jumpers into curtains!" John was turning a frankly alarming shade of red.

"I think they look nice as curtains." Sherlock stated flippantly upon realizing that John was obviously not going to form intelligent thoughts anytime soon, let alone see reason.

John looked as though he was going to punch something (most likely Sherlock), then turned and stomped into his room, slamming his door as hard as he could behind him. Sherlock stared after him in shock.

* * *

"John" came the voice from outside his room, "let me in."  
John stared silently at the door. "Please?"  
Sherlock was saying please? John went over and opened the door. Sherlock entered the room, not meeting the doctor's eyes. He was holding a strange looking lump of fabric in one hand.

"John I'm sorry about your jumpers."

"You used half of them Sherlock. Half of my jumpers are hanging out there on our windows."

"I know John. And I'm sorry and.. Well I just wanted to give this to you." Sherlock handed John the lump of mystery fabric. "I thought you might Iike it because I noticed you didn't have one and it's getting cold so you can wear it during cases-" he went on explaining but John wasn't paying attention, he was unfolding the fabric to reveal a scarf, identical to Sherlock's except its oatmeal colour.

"You made this for me?" John interrupted the rambling man.

"Yes." Sherlock looked up at him apologetically.

"...Thank you Sherlock."

"You're welcome John."

* * *

**A/N:** Well there it is! I haven't written in the longest time and my friend vibrantblueeyes (if you like House of Anubis, she writes some amazing stories for that fandom) has been a lot lately and finally got me to write something haha. It's my first Sherlock fic so I hope they're not too out of character! Reviews are so very lovely! :D


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